


Summer Job

by jmr27 (Dancer84)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: An Unexpected Meeting, Gen, Pre-Series, Short One Shot, Stanford Era (Supernatural), Stanford Student Sam Winchester, Trying to be normal, john watches out for sam while sam is at Stanford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 04:23:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14741930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dancer84/pseuds/jmr27
Summary: Sam is working for Jessica's father over his summer break from Stanford when an unexpected visitor arrives. One-shot. Also posted on Fan fiction.





	Summer Job

Coffee, gunpowder, and dusty old files, the combination of scents was so familiar Sam felt the tension drain from his shoulders. He hated being here in the Sherriff’s office, and he hated that he hated it. There were too many old memories in places like this. Memories of waiting on a bench, too small then for his feet to touch the floor, kicking his legs while he waited for Dean to post Dad’s bail so that they could get out of here. Or clutching the back of Dean’s jacket tight and making himself as small as possible while Dean asked if Dad had turned up in any of the local hospitals, or morgues, because he hadn’t called for a few days. Men in uniform and police offices meant fear, or running.

They had been asked to leave town more than once by men in blue or tan uniforms, men who smiled at everyone else but had nothing but hard looks for Sam and his family. Sam had hidden from police, wiped crime scenes free of prints, even led them on a car chase to keep them away from a vengeful spirit so that Dad would have time to dig up the grave.

Sam had no pleasant memories associated with law enforcement of any kind, so the familiar smells of home were unexpected no matter how often he walked into the San Mateo Co. Sherriff’s Dept. Something in the back of his mind still screamed, Run! Hide! It still surprised him, even after walking through these doors every day for the past month, how much like home this felt.

The men and women in uniform smiled when they greeted him. The woman filling the coffee machine handed Sam a mug already mixed to his personal preferences. There was even a desk with his name on it.

The nametag was made out of tented paper, nothing permanent, because this was just a summer internship and nothing like the job Sam wanted some day. He would never have even considered it, if not for Jess. The idea of being near her all summer had overcome his deeply ingrained fear of law enforcement.

But then, he wouldn’t have gotten the job without her, either. Jess’ father was the Sherriff and he had basically created the spot just to get to know Sam a little better. He knew Sam was thinking about ring shopping, and hadn’t decided if he liked this idea yet.

Sherriff Moore was a tall, lean man with a friendly face that could become stern at a moment’s notice. Today he was smiling over a stack of folders which landed on Sam‘s desk with a thump. Sam’s job mostly consisted of filing and answering phones, since he wasn’t allowed to carry a gun or assist with any real police work. “Morning, Winchester.”

“Good morning, sir. How’s Mrs. Moore?”

“Doing well, son. How’s my girl?”

Sam’s face brightened with a genuine smile. “Jess is great. She was mixing up cookies when I left. We’re coming over for dinner tonight, I think.”

Sherriff Moore grinned and patted Sam’s shoulder. “Mm, Jessica does make good cookies. My wife has a pot roast in the oven already. She got a bigger one this time.”

Sam remembered the last family dinner, when he had polished off everything that Mrs. Moore had been hoping to save for leftovers. Sam grinned. “Sounds good, sir.”

“Have those files copied for the State’s Attorney by noon, please. I’d like you to drop them off over your lunch break.”

“Yes sir!” Sam nearly bounced in his seat. He’d met several attorneys as they came through with subpoena’s for files. Several had expressed interest in offering a summer internship for next year.

Sam could see his whole life stretching before him, a house, a wife, two kids and a white picket fence, where pot roast was the most exciting feature of the day.

“Hey, Winchester!” A sharp voice broke into his daydream.

Sam didn’t even look up from his files at the sound of Deputy Mann’s voice. Sharp and imperative, he made Sam want to dig in his heels and be obstinate just because he expected to be obeyed without questions. Sam believed in asking questions, as many as possible, and knew Deputy Mann’s request would be trouble before he even heard what it was.

“Come help me book this guy!”

Sam’s eyes narrowed, and he shook his head and continued flipping through his files. “Not my job description. I file papers, remember?”

“Don’t worry, college boy. I just need you to push a pen and take prints. I busted my hand on this guy’s jaw.”

Sam finally looked up to see Mann waving a very swollen hand in his direction. Sam blinked, and swallowed hard, his stomach suddenly very unhappy with the coffee he’d just put in it. The man standing next to Mann did have a puffy jaw, alright. His eyes widened slightly when he saw Sam, but otherwise gave no sign of recognition.

Sam’s head snapped back around to hide the flush rising to his cheeks. _No! This can’t be happening! Not him. Not here_. Sam shoved the files bank into a wobbly stack and turned around to face the prisoner. There was no mistaking the tall frame, grizzled features and salt-and-pepper hair. It had been over two years, but Sam would never forget that face.

Dad.

“What--ah--what did this guy do?” Sam stammered as she stumbled forward, banging his shin against a table leg in the process.

“I caught him breaking and entering. He was trying to squat in an old shack off of the highway.”

Sam made a mental review of the headlines in this area for the past few months. There had been no murders, no suspicious deaths, nothing that would bring a hunter to San Mateo. John Winchester must have been passing through on his way somewhere else.

Sam ducked his eyes as he got closer to the booking desk, but Dad--no John, it would be easier that way, just think of him as John--followed his every move with a wondering stare.

Sam felt the flush in his cheeks grow hotter, and he could hear John’s voice in the back of his head. _So, Sammy, you don’t want to hunt? You want to be safe? And you’re working for the Sherriff?_

_I’m filing papers and meeting attorneys who could give me a job!_ Sam bit his lip to keep from shouting the answer, even though John had never asked the question.

“Here.” Deputy Mann shoved a stack of papers and an inkpad across the desk to Sam.

Sam fumbled to un-cap the pen, then started to fill in the card.

“Ah-hem.” John cleared his throat and Sam quickly scribbled backwards over the J and half of an O he had written. Right. He couldn’t put Dad’s real name on the paperwork.

John raised his eyebrows, waiting to see what Sam would do next.

_This isn’t supposed to be my job!_ Sam took a deep breath and bit out, “Name?”

Deputy Mann tossed three fake ID’s onto the counter. Maguilicuddy, Mertz, Ricardo. Dad always did have a thing for _I Love Lucy_.

“Just put down John Doe,” Mann said at the same time Jon said, “Mertz.”

Sam glanced between Mann and John, and wrote in “John Doe.”

Sam could feel Dad’s eyes on him as he fumbled through the rest of the paperwork. John didn’t crack once, no hint of recognition, no warmth in those hard eyes. Sam kept his own eyes on his paperwork, letting Mann do the questioning and writing down whatever the Deputy said, even when it didn’t match John’s answers about his age, weight, etc. After Mann had decided that John was a three-hundred fifty pound, 60-year old male of mixed Latino and Caucasian descent, Sam wasn’t sure who he wanted to punch more. Dad, for those laughing eyes, or Mann, for just being himself.

“There, it’s done.” Sam shoved the paperwork back at Mann. Mann shook his head and shoved it back.

“Fingerprints, kid.” Mann tapped the ink pad.

Sam stared at John, who held up his cuffed hands and allowed Sam to roll each finger across the black ink and then over the card.

“Press the outer edge, then roll the finger,” John muttered under his breath when Sam hesitated.

“I don’t need your help,” Sam snarled.

“Hm.” Was John’s only response when the print smudged.

It took three attempts before he got a card of clear prints, free of smudges. Sam waved the card to help it dry and glared at John. John’s eyes flicked from Sam, to his cuffed hands, to the ring of keys hanging from Mann’s belt. The meaning was clear.

Sam felt the old, familiar anger boiling up, and shook his head. John pinned him with his eyes.

_You might not be a hunter, but you are still family and you will not let me rot in jail._

Sam just held up his hands and marched away. _No, Dad, I’m done and you’re on your own._

Sam dropped into his chair, rubbing the back of his neck, sure that John’s glare would burn through his scalp if it could.

_He’s got to have lock picks in his pockets. Dean is around here somewhere, he’ll bust him out._ Sam leaned forward and put his hands over his eyes, crying inside, _Why me??_

“Hello Miss Moore!” Mann’s voice rang out over the office again.

Sam’s head snapped around, and this time he smiled. Jess. She stood there framed in the doorway, blonde hair spilling over her shoulders, a paper bag in her hands and a smile on her face.

“Sam! There you are.” She didn’t even notice John, who stared wide-eyed as Jess strolled across the office and dropped into Sam’s lap and kissed him firmly. “Hey, are you ok? You’re really tense.”

Sam was all too aware of John watching as she cupped his cheek in her hand. He gently removed it and sat up straighter, so that she had to step back off his lap. “Hi, Jess, what brings you here?”

She dropped a brown paper bag on his desk. “You forgot your lunch this morning. And I thought you might like these.” She produced a plate of freshly baked cookies, their steam fogging up the saran-wrap cover.

For a moment, Sam forgot about his Dad, about Deputy Mann or anyone else. He let Jess feed him a cookie and this time didn’t pull away from her kiss. It wasn’t until she was gone, fifteen minutes later, that Sam looked back at the booking desk. Deputy Mann was sitting there with an ice pack on his hand, getting a lecture about proper procedure form Sherriff Moore, and John Winchester was gone.

A quick glance at the security camera’s assured Sam that John hadn’t slipped out the back. There he was, sitting in a cell, twiddling his thumbs and looking unworried. _He must have a plan. Dean must be nearby. I don’t need to do anything._

Sherriff Moore came over to Sam’s desk, looking ready to rain thunder and lightning on someone.

Sam’s shoulders hunched reflectively, and he looked up at is boss with big eyes. “Sir?”

“If Deputy Mann makes another request of you, do not obey it. Come directly to me.”

Relief rolled over Sam and his shoulders straightened. “Yes, sir! I told him it’s not my job.”

“And you were right. Deputy Mann completely ignored proper procedure. I don’t care if his hand is fractured, that guy could still sue us for excessive use of force.” He tipped his head toward the jail cells. “Go on, get out of here. The State’s Attorney is waiting for those files.”

“Yes, sir!” Sam happily gathered up his files and his lunch, leaving Jessica’s fresh cookies behind for later.

When Sam got back, he palmed a key and went to check the jail cells, but John Winchester was nowhere to be seen.

“Sherriff let him go; he agreed not to press charges if the guy agreed not to sue.”

“Oh.” Sam slipped the key back where he had found it, oddly surprised at the surge of disappointment he felt. He didn’t want anyone here to know who his father was. He didn’t want the family business anywhere near this new life he was building for himself. But part of him felt like a giddy five-year-old brining his crayon-colored artwork home from kindergarten for Dad and Dean to see. He wanted to show them, he wanted them to see everything he had built and accomplished.

Sam shook his head and returned to his desk. He reached for the cookie plate, but it wasn’t there. In its place was an old picture, one of John and Mary, arms wrapped around each other, smiling. Sam had never seen his father smile like that in real life. He flipped it over and on the back was a short note. _Congratulations._

Was this Dad’s way of accepting his choice? Sam fingered his phone. Dad’s number was still programmed in. It would be so easy to call, to talk, to tell John about his new life. About Jessica.

Until the next fight, until the next hunt, until John inevitably demanded his help again. Sam thought about how easily he had taken the key to the cells. He’d meant to slip it into John’s hand, so he could let himself out at night. Sam had been about to put all of this in jeopardy just to let his father out of jail. He thought of pot roast and cookies and Jessica’s warm smile.

No.

He let go of his phone, tucked the picture into his pocket, and went back to work.


End file.
